What's eating Sally Donovan
by jolnnlock
Summary: In which Sally finds some fanfiction about John and Sherlock and can't seem to stop reading it. There simply must be more to the detective and his blogger, or why would so many people imagine them together?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I don't even know guys. I woke up this morning and thought 'Hey what if Sally found some Johnlock fanfiction and read it?'  
Well, here have the result.

Inspired by all the brilliant AUs out there ;)

* * *

Sally Donovan stared at her computer screen in something that might have been horror.

"Why-" she exclaimed accusingly, "why would you even write something like _that_?" There were tears in her eyes -actual tears- now even making their way down her cheeks.

She should have read the Warnings. But how could she've known? She never would have expected anyone to write about Sherlock Holmes falling terminally ill and then_ dying_ of all things.

Seriously.

.

To blame for this entire situation was an email from Philip, which must have been sent to her by accident, since they were still not talking to each other. And sure enough, a glance at the receiver list revealed the entire office to have seen this.

The email contained nothing but a link to a YouTube video and an alluring 'watch me' as description.

Against her better judgement and a great deal of reluctance, she clicked on the video.

.

She was greeted by a blonde newsreader with a 'serious business' look on her face, who informed her about the 'Net Detective Duo' Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. The famous duo happened to jump into the Thames to save some sort of vital clue, leading to the immediate arrest of one Michael Zane; subordinate to Peter Ricolleti, who had been arrested two and a half years ago. Now thinking about it, Sally had heard about this involuntary bath in the Thames before, when Greg and Dimmock were talking in the DI's office.

She was still giving both Sherlock and John a wide berth, after the dilemma with the fake suicide and return, which was the reason she hadn't been there in the first place.

.

In the video the camera slid away to zoom in on the two men, both provided with blankets, sitting next to each other in the back of an ambulance. The Detective said something while gesturing with his hands, while John threw his head back in a barking laugh. Although it couldn't actually be heard in the report, since the woman was still explaining the situation in a voiceover, Sally found herself grinning stupidly at her computer screen.

The report zapped back to where the woman was now interviewing a professional looking DI Lestrade - for ten brief seconds.

Sally remembered her Boss complaining about the news report cutting him off during his speech and well... he had been right. So instead of him giving a drawn-out report of the events, the voiceover came back on with curt informations. There was a shot of the Thames and the Tower Bridge (although the men had jumped into the water from an entirely different location), before the camera zoomed back in on Sherlock and John.

Now though John was standing in front of Sherlock, hand resting on his shoulder; talking to a man outside the ambulance, while Sherlock gazed up at John with so much_ longing_ in his eyes, that Sally felt warm and indecent to witness the exchange.

.

The video had stopped then and Sally had found herself repeating the video and pausing on Sherlock's face watching John talk to the nurse.

_Jesus_. Had John seen this? Hadn't anyone shown him? Didn't he _know_?

She sighed in resignation for the two idiot men. And scrolled down to the comments under the video.

.

There was a disturbing amount of people, whining about the obvious love between Sherlock and John, while in almost every comment someone chipped in a 'disgusting' or 'Watson is married to a woman'. Nobody seemed to care though.

Sally got lost in the midst of a conversation between two teenage girls (they had to be with nicknames like 'sher1ockL0ver' and 'watsonmaniac'), talking about the possibility of a romantic relationship between the Detective and his Doctor, and wondering what would happen if they read their Fanfiction.

There had been the mention of a devastating fanfic and a link and Sally had found herself curious and clicked on it and- well here she was; crying about a made up story of the dying Detective.

.

She blew her nose loudly and shook her head at the screen, then closed the offending tab with a click. Now she felt ill herself.

_God, Sally. Look what has come of you._

Her mother was right. She should get a life. Or a husband maybe. But her promotion was already so close in reach… She huffed and glanced at her guinea pigs, lounging in their cage and nibbling on a carrot.

"Do you even know how lucky you are?" She asked into the silence and watched them for a minute longer.

They declined to answer.

.

Sally turned back to her computer with another heartfelt sigh and stared some more at her screen.

"I can't believe I'm doing this…" she murmured, reopened the tab from before, bookmarked it, and closed it again. Then she turned to Google to find a story with a Happy End.

* * *

"You OK?" Greg asked her the next morning, when she walked into his office.

"Yeah, yeah." She said, offering him a cup of dark brown water commonly referred to as 'coffee', but not at all worth to be called such a thing.

He took it all the same and nodded what might have been a 'thank you' or a 'you don't look OK to me'.

"Had a late one?"

So probably option two. She flopped down in the seat opposite him and took a sip of her 'coffee', before she grimaced and put it down on his desk instead. "One could say that, yeah."

.

She had spent a good three hours of her night reading about the freak's love life and wondering how she would ever be able to look him in the eyes again. She rubbed her hands over her face and when she looked up once more, Greg held out a carton with Doughnuts to her. She took one gratefully.

"D'you want to talk ab-"

"No." She interrupted him curtly. Hell, no.

"OK," he retreated instantly, shrugging his shoulders. "If you change-"

"I won't. But, uh, thanks. Sir."

He sent her a small grin in response.

.

They ate their respective Doughnuts in silence to her relief, until Greg cleared his throat to speak.

"So," he ventured, "what's on for today?"

Sally shrugged. "Not much at the moment. Only paperwork, which you will have to ask _him_ to come over and fill out."

Greg winced. "He'll swing by soon enough, demanding a case or something- So I'll just wait for him to seek me out."

_If he's not too busy having hot gaysex with his 'doctor'..._ Sally snorted involuntarily.

.

Greg raised an eyebrow at her and she waved a hand in dismissal. "Sorry. I'm not quite myself today."

"So I figured." He said, narrowing his eyes at her.

"OK," she said hurriedly, almost jumping to her feet, "I'll get to it then, Boss."

She didn't dare to look back at him, just reached for her still half full cup of horrible coffee, and fled the office.

* * *

It got worse: For the fourth night in a row, she searched the internet for _more_.

Sally was now not only reading the standard Real Person Fiction, which would have been bad enough, but instead she was deliberately seeking out so called Alternative Universe fics. While 'Omegaverse' had weirded her out a bit, as had the one's where she was part of the story and, apparently, happily involved with DI Lestrade (however that could have happened), she marveled at the many different ideas people had come up with.

There were fics about Sherlock and John being actors, tennis players, magicians, teenagers, werewolf and vampire, student and teacher, dancer and rugby player, prince and servant, robot and human, cook and photographer, restaurant owner and award-winning chef, stripper and observer… and so on and so on. Not to mention the one's where someone had set them as they were into a Jane Austen Novel, space, future, past…

.

If asked, Sally wouldn't admit to it, but she grew quite fond of some of those stories, even with all their typos and grammar mistakes. She liked the way these stories were constructed, loved the way they made her smile and even laugh aloud at times. And that some of these fics managed to make her blush at the explicit description or feel hot from head to toes, she would never tell anyone. Ever.

.

There was one story she held especially dear, in which the author (who named himself 'ACD'), had placed the men in the late 19th to early 20th century, solving cases and being in love.

And even without any mentions of kisses or sex in there, it was still achingly obvious how deeply in love they were. Sally lived in awe of the brilliant way of taking the stories from John's blog and rewriting them to fit into their new timeline: Watson writing stories for the paper instead of a blog and Holmes identifying gardeners and maids as murderer or thieves, without the help of a mobile or fingerprints.

.

How could all these people, male and female; young and middle aged, think up stories with hundreds of thousands of words, with only some brief appearances of the duo in television, papers and, presumably, John's blog?

True, the detective and his loyal blogger had always raised some suspicions in most of the yarders, and this new video won't cut the rumors short for a while. But Sally never would've thought so many other people, so many _strangers_, would pick up on the tension, without knowing them for real.

.

Sally sighed, closing another tab on her computer. As far as she knew all those love stories were made up, but… _But._ Maybe Greg did know more about them? He had burst into their shared flat more times than anyone else. Maybe caught them shagging on their kitchen table? Or-

.

_God Sally, what is wrong with you?_

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the mental picture, but failed. She didn't even make an effort to imagine it, it was just right_ there_ \- so obvious: Sherlock sprawled out on the table, naked and not as pale anymore; gasping and shuddering, while John plunged into him. His trousers still around his thighs, because he couldn't possibly have waited one second longer to be inside the infuriating man, and was encouraging Sherlock to _just let go_ and _come_\- until the man did just that, shouting the doctor's name repeatedly...

.

Sally swallowed, hard. She shut down her computer and crawled into bed. She needed to stop this and get a life. And some sex.

Yes, definitely.

Maybe not quite in that order, though...


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I'm so sorry for the long wait... there was so much I needed to finish first and then life happened-  
Anyway, I hope you like it!  
Love, Cx

* * *

"Yes, Mum. I know-" Sally let out an exasperated breath when she was interrupted once more- like most times actually. She carried on listening to the ramblings for a few minutes longer.

Greg walked up to her desk with a file folder in his hand, raising an eyebrow at her and she sent him a pleading look to end her misery.

"Mum- Mum! Yes, sorry. I need to go- Yeah, I'll- I'll call you- Yes… Yes…" she heaved another sigh. "Okay- yeah- love you, too. Okay- Bye." She hung up quickly, before her mother could start all over again. "_Jesus!_" she hissed with emphasis, rubbing her hands over her face briefly and finally looking up at her Boss.

.

Greg eyed her with a sympathetic glance. "Sorry about that," Sally said, biting down on her lower lip.

"Parents, eh?" he intoned good naturedly.

"You have no idea," she mumbled to herself with a faraway look into air, before she turned her eyes back at him. "How can I help you?"

He waved the folder in front of her, "I need you to bring this to Sherlock."

She grimaced. "Why can't he come here and fetch his own stuff? No, wait- He's in a strop, isn't he?" Greg didn't even dignify this with an answer. "Isn't there someone else?" she almost whined, "maybe Dimmock?"

"Went to him first actually. But he's involved with this case in Holloway, so…" He tilted his head in a 'see, there's only you' gesture and- Sally should definitely take a vacation when she was able to read the thoughts of her Boss so easily.

"Can't we send them by, I don't know- a cab? Hand them to a driver and-" she noticed the look he was giving her and sighed. "Yeah, thought so. OK- I _know_ we can't possibly do that. Inane hope on my behalf..."

"Thank you." Greg simply said, before he handed her the file with a nod and left.

.

Sally watched him go, then glared at the offending folder in her hand. The day got worse and worse with every minute.

Glancing at her watch, she found it was almost time for her lunchbreak. If she'd hurry now, she might even be able to get the papers to Sherlock beforehand.

There was no use in delaying it anyway. She heaved a sigh, locked her computer and grabbed her jacket, before she left the Yard.

* * *

It felt strange, standing in front of 221B Baker Street. Sally hadn't been here since that disastrous night they'd arrested Sherlock. Well- they'd _tried_, since the duo had had other ideas and became fugitives instead...

She could still picture everything that had happened then and all too well the events of the ensuing day: Sherlock's 'suicide'.

.

Sally swallowed.

She hadn't told anyone how guilty she'd felt after the detective had died, though she doubted anyone would have cared to listen to her anyway. After all, the Yarders commonly knew that she and Sherlock had never come anywhere near being respectable colleagues - much less friends.

He had always said either too much - insulting family members of victims, forensics, the police in general or often enough her and the relationship with Philip - or nothing, keeping quiet about important clues or even hiding evidence, for God's sake!

Who could blame her for thinking Sherlock to be a fraud? To be the one responsible for the most baffling cases, so he could show off by solving them? In mere hours no less, whereas the yard would have needed days to even come to a reluctant conclusion! And when people started listening to her, everyone was quite happy to accept him as just a mortal being, without the Deductive Powers.

But then Sherlock had _jumped off the roof- _ and suddenly they were accusing her to be responsible for his death, by ruining his reputation. And although no one approached her to say anything like this to her face, it wasn't very hard to assume.

Of course Philip was blamed too, but not even close to the severeness she had been. Especially after he went and bugged everyone who cared to listen, with how Sherlock had obviously faked his death and was well and alive somewhere, solving impossible crimes.

.

Sally had felt guilty too - thank you very much - but didn't want to seem entirely out of it, on account of this. Faking one's dead? Yeah. _Right_.

So she was all the more relieved when eventually, after a few months had passed, everything went back to the way it had been before. Before? Well, before the self-proclaimed Consulting Detective had come around. Maybe they needed longer to solve a case, maybe didn't solve some at all. Maybe they secretly wished for Sherlock Holmes to be back. But they managed.

.

And yet, there came the day Sherlock Holmes_ returned_.

.

When Sally had first heard about the resurrection in the news, she couldn't believe it. It all felt so surreal: a man emerging from the grave after two years? Sounded more like a science fiction film.

And when she - a mere unwilling, from time to time, co-worker - felt like this, how must John have felt when Sherlock returned? How had John reacted when he first saw him again? Had they hugged and cried together? Or had John punched him in the nose for all he'd been put through and kissed it better afterwards? And-

_Jesus._

Sally had definitely read too much fanfiction, now she began to imagine her own story.

.

She gave herself a little mental shake to clear her head against the intruding pictures. Right- she really should get this over with. Taking a deep breath, Sally pressed the doorbell and stepped back again a few feet, waiting for something to happen.

To no avail.

Just as she was considering to ring once more, the door opened and the older woman from downstairs appeared on the threshold.

"Yes?" She was smiling gently- until she seemed to recognise the woman standing in front of her. "Oh you're that Lady Detective-"

_-who came to arrest Sherlock_, was not spoken, but unmistakably in the way she trailed off the sentence. "Uh- yes, that's me. Hullo," she greeted, awkwardly. "Is- uh- Sherlock in at the moment?"

_Please say 'no', please say 'no', please-_

"Oh! Yes, dear," she cooed with returned amicability. "He's just upstairs," she stepped back to wave her through, but Sally didn't move.

"Uh, could you maybe-" She weighed the file folder in her hand and- was she really just considering to shift her responsibility on the nice old Lady to escape meeting Sherlock? "I mean- thank you," she said instead and slipped past the front door.

* * *

Sally climbed the stairs with her heart in her throat. This would be the first time she'd actually face Sherlock after everything that had happened and she was unbelievably nervous.

Stepping onto the landing and forward to the closed door to his flat, she took a deep breath before she raised her hand to knock. And only when she thought hearing a hum from somewhere inside the flat, did she open the door into the living room slowly.

.

Sally wasn't prepared for the sight of Sherlock Holmes lying on the couch, with his eyes pressed closed, his -shaking!- hands at his temples and a deep frown on his features. And she was definitely and absolutely _not_ prepared for the wave of horror surging through her and the mental image of the Detective, dying.

"Sherlock!" She exclaimed, dropping the folder in a panic and rushing over to fall to her knees next to the man. His eyes flew open in an instant and she found herself at the receiving end of an icy death glare.

There was the unmistakable sound of dashing footsteps behind her and Sally pulled her hand back hurriedly, from where she had clutched onto Sherlock's arm. She leaped up onto her feet and stepped back with an incoherent string of apologies, just as John Watson came bursting into the room. He had a gun drawn and pointed it at her briefly, before sweeping the room quickly and doing the same in the adjoining area.

Sherlock sat up on the couch and eyed her up, while Sally tried to calm her frantically beating heart.

.

Only a few moments passed, before John came back in slowly. He held the gun still clasped at his side and looked over at Sherlock.

"You OK?" He enquired and when the man nodded curtly, John turned a questioning glance at Sally. "All right?"

"Yes, sorry- I-" Only then did she notice, how badly her hands were shaking and her knees felt weak. "I-I'm-"

"Whoa- easy," John said, placing the weapon on the sofa table and stepping up to her, to seize her elbow. "Here, have a seat," he walked her over to the red armchair in front of the fireplace, and she sat down gratefully.

"Tea?" John offered and left for the kitchen, without waiting for her reply.

.

Sherlock, who had watched the exchange silently, stood from the sofa and came over, to sit in the armchair opposite. Once again his piercing, pale eyes scanned her over and Sally couldn't help but huff out a breath.

"I'm not sleeping with Philip again, I was worried about you," she grumbled and pulled her skirt down over her knees.

"I know," Sherlock said, his voice curios. "But why?"

Sally swallowed, looking down at her lap and scratched lightly at her forearm. She shrugged.

.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her. "This was the first time I heard you call me by my name."

Sally briefly looked up at him through her eyelashes and couldn't for the live of her think of anything to say. Luckily though, she was saved from replying by John returning, carrying two cups of tea in his hands. He handed one to Sally, who smiled politely at him, and placed the other at Sherlock's side, before he left again to retrieve a third cup.

She sipped at her tea, relishing the sweetness of the hot liquid and did her best to ignore the Detective's glare.

John came back into the room, pulled out the chair from the table next to Sherlock, and sat down to face her expectantly.

Now she had two pairs of eyes turned on her and she didn't want any of their attention.

.

"So-" John began, but was interrupted by Sherlock.

"-You came to bring us something."

"Uh- yeah. Lestrade sent me to bring you the- uh-" she looked around for the file, which lay still on the ground, papers and photographs spilled out onto the floor. She felt herself blush and made a move to stand, but John was already on his feet and across the room to pick it up.

Sherlock laid his steepled hands against his lips and continued to stare at her and Sally tried to escape his all seeing eyes by glancing around the room, while John fiddled with the folders contents. At last, he handed it over to Sherlock and, as the man inspected it, she felt like she was finally able to breath again.

.

For some time, there was only the rustling of papers to be heard, while awkward silence settled around them. Sally occupied herself by sipping her tea and cursing Greg for sending her here in the first place.

Sherlock snorted and stood quickly. "John, get your coat. We need to question the stepmother." He glared at Sally accusingly. "Tell your Boss I was right- the evidence doesn't add up. And if he continues to question my deductions, he can very well solve his "baffling" mysteries all by himself."

He stomped past her and Sally looked at John, who sent her a forced smile, before he rose from his chair. "Sorry, you know how he is. I'll show you out."

She shook her head to dismiss his apology and got to her feet, her empty cup left on the side table.

.

Downstairs, John hesitated at the front door with his hand hovering above the handle, before he turned around and looked at Sally instead. "Listen- I can explain about the gun, it's-"

"What gun?" She asked with a smile. "Don't worry, John. I'm sure Lestrade knows and probably even sleeps more soundly with the knowledge. So, anyway- thank you for the tea."

She caught a flabbergasted expression on John's face, just as she stepped past him and reached for the door. When it fell closed behind her with a satisfying click, Sally couldn't help but grin to herself. After all she had managed to surprise John. Maybe even Sherlock, if he would tell him later. Probably not though.

She sighed, walking down the pavement to her car and deciding that, after this whole dilemma, she really could do with some crispy Fish and Chips.

* * *

**A/N:**Thanks for reading everyone!

I'm not a native speaker, so if my grammar got all funny, I'm so sorry)

Either Reviews or Likes are greatly appreciated ;)


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